Sheep
by Rinkinkirs
Summary: An old ferry was where they first met. There was nothing special about it at all. HitsuGin, AU.


**Pairing:** Hitsugaya/Ichimaru  
**Summary:** An old ferry was where they first met. There was nothing special about it at all. HitsuGin, AU.

**Notes:** Edited version of the old fic, which was an experiment in writing styles. It hasn't been rewritten, but at least I find it tolerable now. An amusing cultural aspect of this: where I'm from, a black sheep doesn't mean unique (as I've been told it does elsewhere), but someone who's not trustworthy or who has shady intentions. Which is why I find a certain phone operator company's commercials with black sheep incredibly stupid, because they're basically telling my country that you can't trust them...

* * *

**Sheep**

Somewhat ironically, Hitsugaya Toshiro was the black sheep of his family. There were several reasons for this.

Firstly, he was the only albino in his family, and none of them wanted to admit to having the kind of "faulty" genes that would produce such a child. Secondly, he'd been smarter than most of them since his twelfth birthday.

And then there was the other thing; the one they refused to even speak of. His family had been "respectable Christians" since Europe was christened, or so they said – they hadn't actually lived in Europe at the time, anyway – and they said he was "breaking their traditions in the most despicable and disgusting way".

They were fond of saying such things.

He had met another black sheep; another black sheep with too bright hair and a face that didn't match what was on his mind.

They met on an old ferry in the middle of nowhere, on one of the days Toshiro couldn't stand staying at home because the tension was thicker than the walls. There was nothing special about the ferry itself at all: it made loud, obnoxious noises and there were traces of rust here and there, while the cafeteria looked like a bleached photograph from the eighties. It was a completely ordinary old ferry.

What was extraordinary about the picture was the lanky man sitting in a corner by himself, a long coat resting atop the seat beside him, no bag or suitcase in sight. His eyes were hidden behind silvery hair in an odd lavender tint, undoubtedly coloured. The black sheep found it amusing that it fit the man so well, and it caught his interest: an odd occurence, as his interest was hardly ever caught by anything but his own business. What could such a man possibly be doing all alone in the middle of nowhere? He was clearly not native (and if he was, he must have been the odd one out), and his mouth formed a twisted smile, almost impossibly wide.

Why did that remind him of someone?

Perhaps it was the general strangeness of the situation that made the black sheep approach the man, perhaps it was something else, he wasn't sure. What he was sure of was that the smile hid surprise when he asked whether he could sit down.

Of course, the man replied with a profound accent, and he picked up his coat and let it hang across his arm. The silky fabric flowed down over his feet, and his nose twitched in annoyance as he tried to gather it into some semblance of order.

The black sheep sat down, wondering what kind of person wore long, silky coats these days, but he couldn't bring himself to ask.

Ichimaru Gin, the man said. Nice to meet you.

The black sheep replied with his name and returned the greeting, but couldn't ignore that the man seemed to stiffen at the mention of his family name.

'Hitsugaya, huh?' he said. 'Then ya don't want anythin' ta do with the likes of me.'

Ichimaru stood and put his coat on. It reached his ankles, and the black sheep had to admit that it looked very good on him.

What on Earth could Ichimaru possibly mean, the black sheep asked. Ichimaru simply shrugged and turned away, walking towards the door without as much as a glance over his shoulder.

What made him follow would be a matter of perplexion for weeks to come, perhaps even months. The man went up the steep stairs to the very top and stepped out on the tiny sundeck, while the black sheep stayed in the doorway.

'Why are ya following me?'

_How did he know?_ Toshiro's eyes widened, but he kept his breathing steady, refusing to acknowledge the rising anxiety. 'You didn't answer my question.'

'Answering yer questions is no duty of mine.' Ichimaru's grip on the rusty railing tightened, white chips of old paint crackling beneath his fingers, and Toshiro could all but feel the tension of his shoulders.

'Please.' It slipped from his lips without a second thought.

Ichimaru's head jerked, as if to turn around, but stopped, his face forming a dark silhouette against the sunset.

Come here, he said. I'll show you.

Hitsugaya knew he should be more cautious, but a few steps and seconds later he found that the man's lips were touching his own.

It was soft, tender. Despite what he'd been taught of right and wrong, he didn't mind, and as he came to that realisation he pushed him away. Ichimaru wouldn't let him: he kept a firm grip on Toshiro's thin arms, and opened his eyes.

Your family have been against the rights of people like me since before my grandfather was born, he said. It would be a disgrace for you to be seen with me.

The black sheep looked at the ground, refusing to meet the man's gaze.

Ichimaru released him, turned back to the railing. Leave me alone, he said.

Toshiro's mind had – stopped. He was struck by a sudden urge of redeeming himself, tell Ichimaru that he was wrong, but something stopped him. Instead, he said: 'I'm already considered a disgrace by my family's teachings. What's one more fall from grace?'

Ichimaru shook his head. 'Ya really are a strange fellow, aren't ya?'

That's all he said, but it was still an invitation to stay.

The next time they met wasn't a coincidence, nor was the second, the third, the tenth. Soon, a picture of Ichimaru and Toshiro at a dubious bar was to be found in the newspapers, and the Hitsugaya family waged internal war.

Not until then did Ichimaru ask what he'd meant on their first meeting.

Refresh my mind, Toshiro said, and Ichimaru sent him a sleepy smile.

You know what I mean, Ichimaru said, but he continued. You said you were already a disgrace. Then why the huge newspaper articles about how you were seen at a gay bar with a tall, handsome man of a dubious nature?

Toshiro snorted, throwing a magazine at him as he stood up and moved towards the kitchen. Stop flattering yourself, he said. A few seconds later, the shrill sound from the tea pot faded.

Ichimaru frowned as he heard the clinks of cups when they were shuffled around in the cupboard, followed by the clattering of some sort of cutlery when it fell to the ground and a curse. He sniggered.

Shut up, Toshiro's voice said. A pause. Why are the tea spoons so high up anyway?

If Toshiro had seen the smile spreading across Ichimaru's face, he wouldn't have asked.

Because the world hates small people? Ichimaru muttered, half to himself, half hoping Toshiro would hear.

The kitchen was quiet for a short while, and then Toshiro appeared in the doorway with two cups of steaming green tea.

Shut up, he grumbled. He handed Ichimaru one of the tea cups in a sloppy gesture, nearly spilling its contents on Ichimaru's lap.

Hey! A frown appeared on Ichimaru's face, but he ignored Toshiro's mood, instead opting to move from his chair to the sofa, where Toshiro was sitting. You didn't answer my question, he said, putting his cup on the table.

Toshiro sighed, staring into his tea as if searching for the answer to some universal question he couldn't formulate.

I liked it, he finally said. When you kissed me. I liked it. And that was a betrayal of what I've been taught since the beginning of my life. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but it is what it is.

Ichimaru slid long fingers through Toshiro's hair, absently letting the other hand rest on one of Toshiro's. Toshiro eyed him warily out of the corner of his eye, but didn't mention it.

By the time I met you I'd already noticed my lack of interest in the female population, but I thought that was my general dislike of people coming to the fore. When you kissed me... that was something new. And I felt something.

Ichimaru moved closer to him. Their noses brushed, but Toshiro still wouldn't look at him. He rested his hands on Toshiro's arms as he put his knees on either side of Toshiro's.

Ichimaru... Stop.

His words went unheard as Ichimaru bent down to his neck, placing his lips on the tanned, pure skin, but his ministrations stopped the moment Toshiro pushed him back. Not minding the feeble resistance, he remained seated across Toshiro's lap.

Perhaps you're not so untouchable after all, Ichimaru said.

Toshiro didn't say anything for a while. His tea cup lay on the floor – he wasn't sure when he'd dropped it. It had probably cooled, anyway.

'I have to clean up,' he said, unmoving. 'After that... I should leave.'

'Don't,' Ichimaru said. 'Ya can stay.'

'They disowned me.'

Ichimaru blinked, a confused look spreading across his face.

'I own nothing now. No apartment, no car, no nothing. Even my bank account was in the Hitsugaya name. All I have left is what I am wearing and what's in my pockets.' He paused, letting his head rest on Ichimaru's chest. 'If you want me to leave... it's fine.'

'Tsk, tsk,' Ichimaru said, wrapping his fingers in Toshiro's hair. 'Money doesn't matter to me. I thought ya knew me better than that.'

'But-'

'Shhh... Don't speak.'

Toshiro exhaled shakily, his breath flowing across Ichimaru's clavicle.

'Say stop... and I'll stop.' Ichimaru's hands pushed him backwards until he rested against the sofa; then, the hands moved to the third button on his shirt. It was a warm day, and since they were in Ichimaru's apartment holding up appearances hadn't seemed so important, but Toshiro almost regretted it when he glanced at the slender fingers as they brushed against his chest, wishing the fleeting touches had lasted for a moment longer.

When Ichimaru grabbed his sleeves and pulled, his arms were constricted within his own shirt, and Toshiro felt panic rising. If Ichimaru left him tied up and...

'What are you doing?' he said, unable to hide his anxiety.

Ichimaru didn't answer. He put his hands on Toshiro's naked arms, sliding the shirt completely off. 'Has anyone ever told ya how beautiful you are?' he whispered.

Hitsugaya shivered.

'Ya cold? We better make the temperature rise, then...'

Ichimaru...

His nails sunk into pale skin, but Ichimaru didn't seem to notice. The long, ethereal fingers drew large circles on Toshiro's chest, making his breath hitch and his skin burn from the cold touch. Ichimaru sucked at the sensitive area on his neck, the one he'd found that one time they drank too much at Ichimaru's favourite bar, that night someone alerted the journalists and managed to take a picture of them that ruined Toshiro's spotless media record. The headlines flashed across his mind as he took one of the pink nipples into his mouth – he couldn't help but feel annoyed that Toshirohadn't warned him about it: not that he minded being a 'mystery man', but he had his principles.

A sharp gasp brought him back to the present, and he could hardly believe his mind had strayed from the sight before him. In the light of the fireplace Toshiro looked divine, curving at the exact right places as the shadows played across his skin. One of his hands slid slowly down Toshiro's chest, barely hesitating when it reached the button of his trousers. The first button was opened by dexterous fingers, and the others followed in quick session.

Before Toshiro knew it, a hand slid down beneath his boxers. Even if he'd wanted to say stop he wasn't sure he could have: he was reduced to writhing against the light pressure, torn between pushing against it or pull away. Ichimaru leaned forward, moving up to kiss his parted lips, nuzzling his nose carefully as he leaned over him. With a hand lodged between them it was an awkward position, but Ichimaru still had the ability to move what was needed.

Toshiro gasped. His mind felt fuzzy, and it didn't help to tell himself that they'd only had a few drinks before switching to tea. In a haze, he noted that the wine bottle on the floor was completely empty, so how come he hadn't noticed drinking more? But no: Ichimaru had drunk much more than him, and there was a small pool of red in front of the bottle's mouth, like a pool of blood from a beheaded bottle. He told himself he hadn't intended for this to happen, but that was wrong, so wrong, and he pressed forward against Ichimaru's palm, barely able to consider the fact that they'd known each other for barely a year and had never even gone out properly and this was all wrong, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that Ichimaru still had his shirt on, and it should have been gone a long time ago.

They didn't speak to each other for nine days after that night - quite an achievement when they lived in the same apartment and slept in the same bed. Toshiro's arse wasn't the only part of him that hurt: his ego had suffered quite a blow at being so susceptible to Ichimaru's deft fingers and tongue.

Toshiro didn't want to forgive Ichimaru for taking advantage; for one, he wasn't as acquainted with alcohol as Ichimaru, but e knew it was mere excuses to shove the blame away from himself, and that did not help his ego one bit.

On the tenth day, he approached Ichimaru.

They ended up in yet another compromising situation on the sofa, and Toshiro was forced to recognise his own participation.

'How long can I stay?' Toshiro asked, twirling lavender hair between his fingers.

Ichimaru sighed, relieved that Toshiro decided to finally give him a break. 'Might as well move in,' he said. 'I doubt you'd spend much time there if ya got yer own place.' His smirk widened. 'And if ya moved by yerself, ya wouldn't get much of this.'

His hand was rudely interrupted from its journey south by a smaller hand and a cold glare.

'I'm tired and I want to sleep.'

Ichimaru's deflated grin had to be hilarious, for Toshiro sent him a tiny smile and petted his cheek, both rare gestures of fondness, and snuggled closer. Ichimaru put his chin on Toshiro's head, and with a soft sigh he closed his eyes and listened as Toshiro's breaths grew deeper and slower.

And then, he fell asleep.


End file.
